Stings of Love
by TwilaBast
Summary: After Sherlock's death john retires to his grandfather's farm to care for it. Some strange things happen there...
1. Chapter 1

Stings of Love

* * *

Chapter One

John woke up stretching leisurely, the blankets tumbled softly down and exposed his pale pecks, his puckered nipples and continued rolling so that the thin spear of light peeking in from the window kissed his abdomen. He stepped out of bed, hesitantly and flung the blinds open.

The day was glorious. The sun had not yet quite completed its assent into the sky. the green fields seemed to stretch on forever. The trees, tall and splendid cast intricate shadows on the wild grass. This had once been a farm. It was a scene from a picture book. He could almost forget what happened. Almost.

He stepped back, closed the blinds and inhaled deeply. He got dressed; he pulled on his red pants, pulled on his jumper and stared into the mirror. His grandfather had owned this farm. It had once been an orchard but they had been blighted and the trees were all gone now. All that was left were the bees. John liked the bees. They were for the most part, self-sufficient. He didn't have to do much.

He headed out for breakfast in the kitchen. He made himself some tea and jammy toast, before he suited up and headed out to world outside. His damn limp had returned. At one time he thought it was gone completely, and though dismayed, he wasn't surprised when it returned after what happened. It took John longer than he had originally estimated it would to reach the cream coloured bee boxes. Before tending to the bees, he decided to sit on a fallen log and watch the bees merrily go about their way, running errands to neighboring gardens and buzzing about. Oh! What a sight it was!

John closed his eyes and inhaled the surgery aroma of clovers and honey sickles, and oddly it reminded him of an old friend. An acute tickling of his left ear snapped him out or his star-sweet daydream. A bee must have gotten through the veil of his bee suit.

_Clever little devil,_ John smirked but faltered as he remembered his day dream and sighed sharply. A pain raced up his leg making John jolt involuntarily. A _Well you bugger, better get you out of my bonnet. _Then bitterly in a mental whisper he added _before I get stung._

John felt a tickling sensation on his cheek. Reflexively, the scrunched up his nose, dislodging the bee. It landed on the mesh of his bee bonnet right at eye level.

"Shit." John gasped.

Slack-jawed, he stared at the creature clinging to his veil. It was a bee, but not a bee. Deformed but perfectly in proportion. A—there are no other words to describe it—a fairy stared him down.

John whipped his veil off in a panic. Spun around looking for the creature. He heard it buzzing in his ear but when he turned, it had flown away. He bent down to pick up his veil only to find the fairy hovering in front of his nose.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" the creature asked bluntly.

"I-"John stared, slack jawed. "What?"

"Which one?"

"Afghanistan." John answered, in a daze. "What… what are you?"

"Oh good, it's you then. I was afraid it might not be, these aren't exactly the best eyes. It's taken some getting used to.

John didn't move, couldn't breathe. His chest tightened. he knew. He knew but he couldn't believe it. The thing he had tried to forget. All this time he had regretted wasting. Cursing his damn indecision. A rushing sound seemed to fill the bright green day and his mind enveloped itself in a dark cloud and he fell into memories. Memories of pain, memories of grief.

Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock dead. Sherlock dead. Dead. Dead.

he awoke. The sky framed the tiny face perfectly. A deep, cloudless, shocking blue. It couldn't be.

"Sherlock?"

The fairy reached out one arm against his cheek. "Yes John, it's me."

"Sherlock?"

"John," buzzed the stripped fairy, a bit annoyed. How could this man not deduce such a simple fact?

"Sherlock?" John's voiced dribbled out it a hoarse whisper.

Well, perhaps this was not as simple of a fact Sherlock believed, as John had not rebirthed as a milky white larva in a cramped honeycomb nor had to eat his way out. Truly fascinating!

"John, it's me. You can ask any question you like to prove it."

"It's not that! It's that you're alive and a-a-a-a" John histrionically lowered his voice "A-a Fairy."

"Bee," Sherlock corrected.

"Right. A bee…Why a bee?"

"Why not?"

Sherlock landed on John's pointed finger, showing off his wings. He brushed some pollen off his brown and yellow coat.

"Do be careful of the stinger, John." he said.

"Sherlock—" John choked out. "What should I do? You can't live as a bee forever, we have to fix you!"

"You could start by fixing me some food. I've never been hungrier in my life." He lifted off John's finger and flew towards the house.

"Who knew that the metamorphosis between larvae and bee could take up so much energy! It's fascinating, John, really."

Later, John sat at his kitchen table watching Sherlock lick jam off of a spoon with his startlingly long proboscis.

He finished it off surprisingly quickly, smacked his lips, then looked up at john.

"I'm going to need the whole jar."

John got up listlessly and got the jar then set it in front of the tiny Sherlock who seemed to be a tiny bit larger…

* * *

To Be Continued…..


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

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John Drops Some Jam

Upon finishing the jam, Sherlock grew tired. In vain he fought slumber because there was so much to tell John, many questions to ask and much catching up to do. Once he fell asleep and his tiny wings beating indolently, fearing his own hands would crush the bee-man, John fetched a piece of printer paper to pick him up. Silently yet quickly like kudzu, he carried the fairy to his room. His minuscule chest rose and fell. It reminded John of when he dared to creep into Sherlock's room, when he was human; before the fall. Even then his thin milky chest was just as delicate as it was now. Gingerly he placed fairy on the fluffiest pillow.

John ran fingers through his fringe. _Better get more jam. _

And so he left a note for Sherlock and left.

Sherlock woke to the smells of John encompassing him. It was the thing he remembered first in his new bee life. For a while, encased in his honeycomb cell, it was all he remembered. Once he chewed his way out, his mind was an avalanche of memories; jam, jumpers, tea, honey colored hair, eyes with candy wrapper wrinkles, and obscure images like that.

"Jooooooooooooonnnhhgg," Sherlock moaned into the pillow. His proboscis growing stiff as if he has landed on the sweetest flower.

John fumbled with the paper bags full of jam and milk in his arms while he tried to unlock the front door. A raspberry jam jar fell onto the porch and splattered everywhere.

"Shit," John said, but got a quiet joy as the red markings reminded him of the crimes he helped solve.

Once inside, John set down the bags. He heard a faint noise. It sounded like his name. He walked to the bottom of the stairs and there it became clear.

"Jooooooooooooonnnhhgg," he heard. His eyes widened in fear.

"I'm coming!" The blond man called. "I'll be there soon! Hold on just a tick!"

He rushed up the stairs, not pausing to think as he slammed the door open.

Sherlock's form writhed on the bed. John's eyes were drawn to the pink button-like nipples on his chest. _Wait, _he thought. Something is different, very different. Sherlock's body now measured roughly the length of John's palm. Just last night, Sherlock had only been about the size of a particularly large bee!

"Sherlock! Are you—?"

"John!" Sherlock shouted. "Your pillow is amazing! How did you make it smell like this?" He rubbed his tiny body on said pillow as he spoke.

John scooped Sherlock up in his hands, minding his fragile wings. "You're bigger than you were last night."

"Hm." Sherlock stood up in John's hand and measured himself against his index finger. "So I have. Interesting…"

"Perhaps this has to do with that jam…" Sherlock said as he paced back and forth.

John fought back a giggle as Sherlock's feet tickled his palm. "Hold still." He said softly.

John rubbed his fingers up and down Sherlock's perky flank to calm him. Sherlock froze and locked eyes with John.

He extended his proboscis and licked at John's finger. John's whole body mumbled with a deep groan. His touches became bolder, caressing Sherlock's chest.

Figuring _in for a penny, in for a pound,_ John plopped down on the bed and continued to fondle his small friend. Being, of course, very careful about his stinger.

"Oh, John!" Sherlock gasped and arched his back hungrily. "Pollinate me!"

John moaned. He felt as if he were in a dream. He felt it; he believed it because this could not be real. This was his Sherlock, but how had this happened, how had he become this- this- fairy?

Sherlock's proboscis licked at his finger once more. A fire roared to life inside of him. He felt the desires, once obstructed, break their damn, rush and course through him like an eruption of molten stone, rock and metal.

"Sherlock, I want to, I want you!" He wanted to give pleasure and to take it but Sherlock, once tall, once beautiful, once alive, had become this tiny bee. This…Zombee…. He bent his face down to him, his breath short and sharp. Sherlock screamed in ecstasy and offered him his perfectly imperfect ass. John snatched a Q-tip from his bed side table and ran it between his buttocks, just beneath his stinger. Sherlock went limp.

John bent down, carefully puckered his lips and kissed Sherlock's ass. He jumped back in shock as Sherlock, still in the throes of passion began to grow. His legs stretched first, then his arms, then the rest of him rapidly followed. Each piece of him grew sensuously, slowly. He was still face down, his ass in the air a hand between his legs, fingers running the length of his bee-nis.

"john, oh john, pollinate me! Oooooo" his massive wings vibrated.

"Wait," huffed John his irresistible oaky voice which drizzled on the other man's ear/antennae like caramel. "Are you sure that we should do this? For the sake the Queen, I was going to shag you with a Q-tip." He gestured to the Q-tip in question. Yet, he couldn't help but stare at the scrumptious bee-hind.

"Pollinate me!" The imp said impatiently.

"Sherlock, no I mean what if I crush you! You know I want this. That I want you. I just-" The bigger man waved his hands about, Q-tip in hand.

Sherlock lazily turned to his side. "John, I didn't know how to tell you—"

"Yes, yes, I know. When you were human, back when you were alive-I didn't know how to tell you either. Sherlock, I've waited so long to tell you how I feel and now it's just so great to see you." Tears formed in John's eyes and Sherlock longed to reach out and drink them, but the tears never fell.

"Though you are not quite the detective I am John, you are one in your own right. We do not need these words. We both can deduce each other's needs at this point." The bee man looked seductively through his long black and yellow lashes. "Unless you want to…talk."

John opened his mouth but spoke nothing.

"And in this new body, John," The way Sherlock said his name sent chills up his spine, "I have new biological needs, needs far greater than those in my previous human body. You see, I'm the virgin queen."

John fell back on his ass in a fit of laughter. The Q-tip lost under the bed.

Sherlock buzzed in frustration. "Pollinate me John."

Tears did fall from John's face in laughter rather than regret.

"I'm the virgin queen and I need to have larvae John." Sherlock pouted. "I'm glad my predicament amuses you."

John worked his way to his feet, his knees clicking and still chuckling.

John's giggles subsided slowly. Sherlock glared.

"I don't appreciate being laughed at, John" he said.

"If you had ever gotten around to checking your beehives today, even you would have noticed that they are all missing their queens. I am not joking."

Sherlock, now grown to his human height, sat up angrily.

"Pollinate me." he demanded.

* * *

To Be Continued...


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

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John Thinks Stuff Over Under an Apple Tree

John sat beneath the apple tree behind his house. He tried to work over the last few days in his head. A week had almost passed and he had hardly been able to find any solitude. Sherlock had been cornering him around every corner demanding that he "pollinate" him.

Although the mechanics of his friend's reincarnation were still a mystery to John, he had been able to pick up a few details. Firstly, Sherlock seemed to be able to change his size according to his energy level. John had seen him range from the size of a large bee to his normal human height, which towered over John. John didn't think Sherlock could control the changes at will.

Secondly, Sherlock's current state seemed to be connected to the welfare of his hives. When he was in good spirits, the hives would produce honey of such quality John could scarcely believe it. When he was in a sulk—as he was at the moment—the bees became more aggressive. Already John had a number of stings in his arm and leg.

Lastly, none of the hives had queens. There were no nursery cells in the comb. No one was laying any eggs. Sherlock claimed that he was the queen and needed to provide eggs. This made no sense in John's head. So he sat sadly under his tree trying to think of how to approach his unique situation.

He was disrupted from his reverie by a loud buzz in his ear.

"Good morning, John." Sherlock said as he landed on his shirt.

Sherlock stared up at him with his eyes that were like the sea in the summer. His expression was petulant.

"Good morning Sherlock." John tried to keep his voice light and pleasant. Sherlock took to the air again and flew agitatedly around for a moment. He landed on a patch of grass in front of john.

"John, I know this is difficult for you, but you have to understand, I am the virgin queen. If I don't start laying eggs soon they, the workers will kill me. John, I know this is difficult for you but… you have to pollinate me." His sunlit eyes bored into the night sky that were John's irises. Pleading, imploring, "John, please you must plant your seed, and render me fertile, or I will die….

"Why?" John stood up agitated, angry and hurt. His mind drifted back to that day, after he returned from buying jam.

The pleasure had ended so abruptly, when john had looked into his eyes and told him –impregnate me. He had moved away, surprised. Sherlock, had told him that he had come to life to save the bees and it was his, John's, job to pollinate him to create a new race of powerful indestructible bees.

He was being used. He was only a means to an end. As always. He did not know why, or care to know why Sherlock was doing this.

"John," Sherlock flew and reached out a fuzzy arm to his cheek.

"What does it matter if it's me or the bloke down the road?"

"Is this what you're huffy about?" Sherlock asked. He squinted his already squinty eyes. He planted a kiss with as much force as he could in his tiny body on John's cheek. The faye flew atop his partner's ear and fell into his mounds of greying hair. "John, I thought you understood. You're not some drone, not some street walker. You're Doctor John Watson. You're my friend."

John, still angry, sat silent as the bee man made himself comfortable in his fringe.

"If you decide you don't want to pollinate me, I can have drones." Sherlock shrank a bit and hugged a tuft of blond hair. "Please remember, I don't want drones, I want you. However, what I want more than you is for you to be happy."

They sat together in silence, Sherlock perched on John's shoulder. Warmth welled up in John's chest. He took a breath.

"Sherlock—" he started. "I'll do whatever you need me to. I'm just glad you're back."

John held Sherlock up tenderly to his face and gazed into his eyes.

"There's just so much I don't understand. How are you going to…" he trailed off, unsure of his words. "You know, get pregnant." he whispered.

"I've seen you naked, Sherlock. You don't look like you're hiding any female bits."

"I'll explain everything in good time." Sherlock said. "For now, I think our first priority is to go out and buy some more jam. We're out. And if you want to do this, I'll need to be at my full size."

"Yeah, sure." John said awkwardly. How could they be having this conversation? How long could they keep avoiding the topic of sex? "Uh, I'll run down to the market tonight and get some. I'll be back before dinner and then you can…err, have your jam."

"No, John." Sherlock interjected. "I've been trapped in that blasted hive for weeks. I _need_ to get out, John!" he continued. "I'm going mad just flying from flower to flower all day."

"Sherlock—You can't just fly into the grocery store and expect people not to make a fuss." John said. "You look like a fairy! Some kid is going to think you're magic!" He paused abruptly.

"Are you magic?" he asked intently.

"Never mind that, John! Get your coat. We're going grocery shopping. It could be dangerous."

* * *

To Be Continued...


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

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A Man and A Bee Walk Into A Grocery Store

John made his way to the jam section, happy that he had brought his coat. It was chilly in the store. Sherlock rode on his shoulder back to bee size. No one seemed to notice him. He was stroking john's cheek with a feeler and humming gently. Although minuscule in size, Sherlock's hum traveled down through john's body making his voice shiver. Or maybe it was the cold.

"There, John" Sherlock said pointing at the jam. John jumped as Sherlock said this because Sherlock had taken off from his shoulder and buzzed these words into his ear. He felt Sherlock's fuzz on his ear lobe before Sherlock moved away again towards the jam. Sherlock flew to the strawberry jam and waggled his bee-autiful booty at John, who tried not to watch. Why did Sherlock have this effect on him? The moment from the week before kept buzzing through his mind. Sherlock seemed to know this. But they were here to get some jam, nothing else.

"John!"

John started again. "What?"

"There's a weird bulge in your pants, I'll go investigate! And without another word Sherlock zoomed up his trousers and squeezed into his tight, red pants. At the same moment, someone who John never imagined would come down the aisle appeared…Mycroft.

He thought quickly trying to decide if he should hide. He could not bear to face Mycroft now, with Sherlock crawling between his thighs. Sherlock continued squeezing himself around John's bee-hive. His proboscis was now trailing along his inner thigh; it contained a lot of fluid for something so small. John could feel the fluid moistening his thigh. John turned and tried to walk away, but…

"John?" he froze and Sherlock was now back at the front, his arms wrapped around John's tent pole. John did not pause for very long, he hurried forward but he could hear Mycroft begin to run up the aisle, he grabbed john's arm and spun him around.

"John. My Love"

John squeezed his eyes shut and bee-grudgingly turned to Mycroft. "Oh, hi Mycroft. I didn't see you there." He awkwardly began putting any jars of jam within reach into his cart.

"I nearly forgot you were in Sussex. How are you?" He extends a hand to John.

"I'm… good." He carefully picks his words. His bee friend trailed his proboscis down his loins. Red tinted the blonde's cheeks. "It's been… a while." John takes the Mycroft's hand in his own. Mycroft shook hands much like any important government employee; firm and dry. John knew his hand must have been limp and moist from the sweat Sherlock triggered.

The elder Holmes brother wiped his hand on his trouser leg, but kept a small smile on his face. "I suppose we have not seen each other since-" Mycroft looked past John, his eyes bereft. He snapped his gaze back to the short man who twitched where he stood. "Do you have ants in your pants?"

"Something like that." Said John. The sprite had crawled up and down the entire length of his member and now continued back further. John stuck a hand into his pocket to try and dissuade the sprite. In turn Sherlock nuzzled his honey-sacks. "How-how about you? I didn't expect you here."

"Government business."

"Yes of course!" John said. "What else could it be? I'm sorry Mycroft- I haven't been myself lately." John busied himself by filling his cart with jams.

"Are you entertaining anyone?" Mycroft cocked an eyebrow.

"No. Why?" John avoided eye contact.

"That's quite a bit of jam," Mycroft eyed the cart.

Just then, Sherlock tickled John's perineum. John jumped and yelped in surprise. "Oh!" He cleared his throat. "Oh no. It's just me. It's always good to have a stock."

"So it is. I will be in town this week." Mycroft presented a business card out of thin air. "Call me if you're free."

"Will do." The tickling in John's nethers stopped, much to John's pleasure and dismay.

Mycroft walked away and gave John a mock salute over his shoulder. "Enjoy you jam, John."

A voice buzzed into the ex-soldier's ear. "I see he has yet again gave up on his diet. He's huge!"

"Sherlock" John hissed through his teeth. "Maybe it's because you're a 2 centimeter-"

"15 millimeters."

"Do you know how embarrassing this is?" John hardly noticed the blue haired lady staring at him from the end of the isle.

"I told you it could be dangerous,"

…..

Back at John's cabin, Sherlock meticulously sorted the jam in the cupboards. John sat at the table staring at Mycroft's card in his hand. How could he bring himself to tell Sherlock that in the months after his death, he had found comfort in Mycroft's arms—Sherlock's own brother! They had broken it off more than a month ago but things were so complicated now. Sherlock landed on John's nose.

"Are you still upset about the thing at the store?" Sherlock said. "I already apologized for that."

"It's all fine, Sherlock. I'm just trying to figure some things out."

"Good. I hoped you had gotten over it by now," he lowered his voice. "Bee-cause I was hoping that tonight we could…engage in more…amorous activities."

John's breath caught in his throat. "God, yes."

"I need to eat first. Meet me in the bedroom in half an hour."

* * *

To Be Continued...


End file.
